


joining the dots

by laeveleve



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, we know this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laeveleve/pseuds/laeveleve
Summary: Desperate to prove a point to Penny, Simon casts a spell that’s meant to reveal his true feelings for someone — “Kiss, Marry, Kill” — on Baz. Predictably, the spell backfires.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 53
Kudos: 271





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cynopoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynopoe/gifts).



> river, thanks for blessing me with your ideas. love you, you curse
> 
> also, thank you so much to @hitchcock-winter for being my wonderful beta! your feedback was always so lovely and reassuring.
> 
> this fic is my love. i hope you appreciate it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

**_SIMON_ **

I don’t know why I bother studying with Penny. 

She’s dead smart, ridiculously well-focused, and I can’t keep up. We’ve been in the library for an hour; she’s written half an essay, and I’ve written a total of one sentence on my elocution homework. 

I don’t really know why Penny bothers studying with me, either. 

By the time Penny puts down her pen for a break, I’ve been distracted completely from my work; but that’s no surprise. Nobody, not even Penny, can expect me to concentrate on grammar shifts when my vampiric arch-nemesis has just entered the library too.

Baz has got an armful of heavy-looking books, and his two usual minions trailing behind him. He sits at a table a couple of rows down and opposite from us, and doesn’t even have the decency to notice the glare that I’m burning into his forehead. 

Tosser.

Dev and Niall don’t even open their books — they’re clearly bantering between themselves about something or another, and Baz isn’t paying them even the slightest bit of attention. He’s already focused on his book, bent over it like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever read. 

Doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself, does he?

I’m snapped back to reality by Penny, slapping me on the back of the hand with a plastic ruler. “Ouch!” I hiss, like I haven’t been literally stabbed by a goblin before. (The Mage was there, so it was an easy fix.) “What was that for?”

“We came here,” Penny says, in a voice that you’d think she’d only use in front of a naughty child. “To _study_. Not to drool over Baz.” 

I make a slightly embarrassing sound of indignation. “I was not _drooling_ over Baz!” I lean in close to her, before anyone else can overhear our conversation. “I think he’s really up to something.” 

Penny falls back in her seat with a groan. “Si, come on. You _always_ think Baz is up to something. He’s just studying. Which you should be doing, by the way.” 

“I’m serious, Pen!” I glance out the corner of my eye. He’s still there, looking unnervingly and vampirically perfect as always. There’s a lock of hair hanging over his face — I want to rip it out of his head. “He’s been everywhere I’ve been in the last couple days.”

“You live together. And attend the same classes, because you’re at school together.” Penny says flatly. She’s clearly already bored with this conversation, and I’m certain that I’ve filled my Baz-talk quota for the day three times over by now, but I need her to understand—

She sighs, and leans over, placing her hands on top of mine. “Simon. I love you. But have you ever thought that maybe… your obsession with Baz isn’t just out of hatred?” 

I don’t know what she’s getting at. “What else would it be out of?” 

Penny shrugs at me meaningfully, like I’m missing something here. When I just stare at her blankly, she rolls her eyes mightily and says, “Simon, do you have _feelings_ for Baz?” 

My first thought is to say: _yeah, hatred,_ but the logical part of my brain can’t get past my best friend implying that I fancy _Baz Pitch._ Of all people — the mean, rude, scheming, lying vampire? My mouth drops open, and I say, “ _What?_ ” far too loudly. 

Baz looks up from his book, and glares at me from across the room for causing such a disturbance. I cast him a look out the corner of my eye, but Penny is still looking at me, frowning.

“You can’t be serious.” I say, but I don’t think she’s joking.

“I’m completely serious.” Penny huffs. “Si, you follow him around constantly. You sit outside his violin lessons. You watch him like a hawk during football. You spend more time chasing Baz around than you actually spend _with your girlfriend._ ” 

_Agatha._ I want to protest — it’s not my fault that I’ve barely seen her since we got back to school. Every time I ask if she’s free, she makes some excuse about needing to study or do homework. I don’t know why she’s become so studious all of a sudden, but I never see her anymore other than at mealtimes. 

“I have to be ready to catch him out,” I say, instead. “What if I let him off and gave up? He could have taken over Watford by the next day.” 

Penny glances over to where Baz is swatting away Dev like he’s an annoying fly, peering over his homework. She rolls her eyes mightily and sighs. “Sure, Simon. Whatever you say.”

She doesn’t believe me. _Why doesn’t she believe me?_

Penny has given up and gone back to her revision, but I can’t concentrate for shit, now. Baz is there, in the corner of my fucking vision, taunting me, and Penny actually — she thinks — 

I flip open the heaviest book on the desk — something about the slam of a heavy book against the wood _almost_ feels satisfying to my frustration — and glare at the pages. It’s a book on obscure modern spells; Penny must have taken it out of the stacks for her homework. 

It’s my usual deal: I’m looking at this book, but I’m definitely not reading it. (Would it kill magickal publishers to make a book with some pictures, for a change?) I turn a page, even though I barely comprehended the first one.

_Intuitive spellwork,_ the title says. The kind that doesn’t hold all that much power, unless you’re trying to figure out a plan of action, and uncertain what course to take without some kind of magickal decision-making intervention — then again, they rely purely on emotions, not any kind of logic. I doubt Penny takes much notice of this stuff. She’s always telling me how me thinking Baz is a vampire means nothing without actual proof. I ask her about the spells, anyway.

She tuts. “Those kinds of spells are only useful if you’re emotionally constipated. And who wants their emotions to lead their decisions anyway?” 

I shrug. I don’t really know what leads to my decisions. I tend not to think about it.

I guess Penny’s right; most of these do seem pretty useless. Spells for figuring out what your favourite food is, or where you should go on holiday. Which of those two dreamy boys you should choose to date. (One which helps you pick your favourite friend — can’t imagine that one would go down well.) 

There’s _one,_ though…

It takes me a while to realise why it’s piqued my interest, but then it hits me — this is _perfect._ It’s a spell for sorting out your feelings for people, based on how it reacts when you aim it toward a particular person.

**Kiss, marry, kill.**

It’s tamer than it sounds, really. Even if you’d rather kill a person than kiss or marry them, it’s not strong enough to actually _kill someone_ — very few spells are. 

I read on through the spell summary, finally able to distract myself from Baz. 

  
  


_If the caster has strong feelings of dislike, distrust, or resentment, and would therefore prefer to ‘kill’ the object of the spell, said person will lose their voice; it will, however, wear off quickly, within a couple of days at most. This is due to the understanding that loss of the voice is a type of death to any magician._

  
  


I slam the book closed so fast that I startle Penny. 

It’s perfect — I’ve never disliked, distrusted, or resented any person more than I do Baz. All I have to do is cast this spell, and when Baz loses his voice, I’ll have proven to Penny that I really do hate him.

Maybe then she’ll finally help me expose his evil plots again, if she’s not convinced I’m only on his trail because of some kind of repressed gay crush. I could do with her help — she’s much better at research than me, and far more subtle. 

“I’m gonna go to the dining hall, see if there’s anything out for supper.” (Not a lie, since I’m heading there first, but then I’m going straight back to Mummers’ to make sure I’m ready for when Baz gets back tonight.)

Penny frowns at me. “Si, you barely even started your homework. It’s due in three days.” 

“It’s fine. I’ll do it tomorrow.” I say, already haphazardly shoving loose papers into my bag. “See ya, Pen.”

I practically speed-walk out of the library — behind me, Penny huffs and says, “Could have at least cleared up the books.” 

  
  


❤︎

  
  


**_BAZ_ **

Simon Snow is plotting something.

It’s impossible to ignore. I came back to the room late after feeding, and he was already tucked under his covers — _reading._ Since when does Simon Snow _read?_

He doesn’t turn a single page the whole time I’m getting ready for bed. I glance over at him for a second, and catch his eyes flit back to the page — he’s watching me, for some reason. 

I’m not sure what I’ve done to piss him off now. There’s always something, but I lose track over the course of a day. 

When I come out of the bathroom, he’s glaring at that same page so hard it looks like he’s trying to burn a hole in it. I roll my eyes, but I’m too exhausted from studying all day to pick a fight now. I crawl under my covers and turn deliberately away from him.

He’s still looking at me, I can tell. I feel the warmth of his gaze on my back. I think he’s watching to see if I’ve fallen asleep. I’m good at pretending, so I slow my breathing and wait.

Ten minutes or so, and it seems like he’s unable to wait any longer. I hear his bed covers rustling and the frame creaks as he shifts. I hear his wand slide off the bedside table.

Snow takes a breath, and whispers, **“Kiss, marry, kill.”**

What in Crowley’s name is he trying to do?

I’ve heard of that spell — it’s practically useless, just an inconvenience to both the caster and whoever’s on the receiving end. I sit up sharply, and throw off my heap of blankets; this insufferable nightmare is trying to make me lose my voice, isn’t he? 

I turn to him, and he’s like a deer in headlights. 

“What the fuck, Snow?” I say, on impulse. Thank Crowley, his half-baked party game spell hasn’t worked — I’ve still got my voice. I’d rather not miss a couple of days’ lessons just because my roommate decided to make me his personal experiment, thank you very much. “What are you doing?”

Snow frowns. “I—” He doesn’t get to finish, though, before his words are replaced with a sharp hiss of pain. He throws his left hand up in the air, and stares at it. 

“What—” _Fuck._ I barely get to begin my own sentence, before I’m apparently struck with the same pain. I glance down, and promptly almost pass out at what I see — the letters _SS,_ tattooed into the skin of my left ring finger.

Snow stares at me, and I stare back — I don’t know what to say. Then, he throws himself out of bed, and practically sprints to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. 

I know what I saw, though. On the same finger as mine, the letters _TBGP_ in deep black ink.

Simon Snow just married us.

  
  


**_SIMON_ **

I scrub my finger under the tap for nearly fifteen minutes, but the initials don’t even fade. They’re still stinging, like they’ve been freshly needled into my skin, and my whole hand is sore now.

I don’t fucking get it. There’s no way the spell could go _that_ wrong — my magic can go haywire, but I’ve never _accidentally married a person._

As soon as I saw the letters, I knew what they meant. Wedding rings can be an inconvenience for Mages — especially ones who have rings as magickal artefacts anyway — so their spouse’s initials, as a magickal tattoo on their ring finger, is always a viable (and, I guess, romantic) alternative. 

But _actual marriage_ wasn’t even an option for that spell — I read over it only very quickly, but the ‘ _marry’_ option only had the power to make a wedding ring appear in your pocket; nothing more than that. 

I thump my head against the knob of the tap. Of course, my fucking magic would do something like this. 

I glance down at my wet, sore, shaking hand. What kind of prat has _four initials,_ anyway? The letters have to be small and narrow to even fit on my finger. And they’re in some kind of posh, calligraphic looking font — Baz’s fucking handwriting, I realise. At least I get the satisfaction of Baz’s own tattoo being in my ugly, practically unintelligible scrawl. He’ll hate that.

There’s a knock at the bathroom door, meeker sounding than any noise Baz has ever made before. “Snow?” 

I wonder if he’d believe that I jumped out of the window. (He’d probably be glad if I did — being a widower to Simon Snow must be preferable to being his husband, when you’re a Pitch.)

I guess I have to confront this. I open the bathroom door before I can convince myself that jumping out of the window is a better option — Baz is looking vaguely constipated on the other side. 

“What the fuck did you just do?” He barks, but his voice is missing its usual sharpness. He actually sounds a little upset. 

I shake my head, as he backs me further into the bathroom. “Nothing, I was just — I was trying to —”

“Steal my voice?” Baz says. “Well, congratulations. You not only failed, but you also made everything ten times more complicated.”

“I wasn’t trying to steal your voice!” I insist, but Baz just scoffs. “Look, I don’t know how this happened, okay? But we can — we can annul it, surely. There must be a way.” 

Baz closes his eyes and thrusts the heels of his palms into them. The deep, black, ‘ _SS’_ is like a glowing beacon to what I’ve done right on his hand. “Snow, marriage spells are serious business. Annulment spells are specific to the type of marriage spell which was used, and since you clearly just created this spell…”

_There won’t be a matching annulment spell._

Fuck. 

The bathroom goes quiet, as Baz and I simultaneously consider the weight of this whole situation. We’re married. Baz Pitch and I are married. Eighteen years old, mortal enemies, holy matrimony. Somehow the three don’t quite fit together in my head.

“I’ll get Penny. We can figure something out.” I insist.

“We had better. Otherwise it’ll be both our funerals.” Baz says, and then he turns and marches out of the bathroom.

  
  


❤︎

  
  


The next morning, when I tell Penny what I did, she looks a little like she wants to murder me. I probably deserve it. Part of me thought that I would be finally put out of my misery last night, but apparently even being accidentally married to your nemesis isn’t enough to make Baz Pitch break the anathema.

I run through the whole story in a panicked haze, and Penny grimaces at me the whole time. When I’m done, all she says is, “Simon, what were you thinking?”

“I was _thinking_ that you’d _believe_ me, that I don’t have feelings for Baz!”

_And now you’re married to him. Great job, Simon._

Penny’s frown gets deeper, somehow. “The implication that you like Baz bothered you _that much?”_

_Of course it did,_ I want to say. _He’s my mortal enemy. I’m going to have to kill him one day._ Instead, I say, “I just wanted you to listen to me.” 

I can tell she’s thinking something, and holding back from telling me. She’s cringing so hard, and trying so badly to hide it, that she’s fidgeting in her seat. (Penny never fidgets.) 

“If you have something to say, just say it, Pen. I already know that I fucked up.” I say, flatly. 

Penny releases a mighty breath. “Simon. Not to drag this whole thing on, but… have you thought that maybe the spell married you because you _don’t_ hate Baz after all? You know your magic can be… over reactive. But it still reacts to your feelings.” 

I’m tapping my fingers so hard on the open page of the book with the spell that my hand’s practically a blur. Better, as to not see what’s written on my finger. 

“No. No, I don’t think…” I close my eyes for a moment, then shake my head. “No. I’m not lying to you, Pen. I really don’t fancy Baz. And there’s no way we’re compatible enough to get the ‘ _marry’_ result. We’ve been trying to kill each other since we were eleven.” 

Penny’s lips are sealed shut, and she just nods. “Okay. I guess it doesn’t matter _why_ it happened, so long as we can find a way to annul it.” She frowns at the book. “We will find a way, Simon. Don’t worry.” She places her hand on top of mine, and smiles. 

I’m glad I’ve got her, if no-one else.

  
  


❤︎

  
  


**_BAZ_ **

My life is a cosmic joke, and God is laughing at my misfortunes. 

I’m in the room at Mummers’, hopelessly searching through book after book to find a generalised annulment spell with Simon Snow and Penelope Bunce (and Crowley knows how _she_ got in here). 

All because I’m now married to Simon Snow, apparently. Every time the thought flashes through my mind — _Simon Snow is your husband —_ I have to mentally slap myself. This’ll all be over soon. We’ll find an annulment spell, the letters will vanish, and my finger will be blank for the rest of my days. One day, my initials on Snow will be replaced with a fresh, lovely, “ _AW”._

I can be grateful at least that nobody’s brought up how the spell even ended up marrying us in the first place. I’ve absolutely no doubt that it’s going through all our heads, but I don’t think I could look either of them in the eye and lie. Not when I know that this is all because of me. 

Because of my love for Snow, which is so overpowering that it was able to completely cancel out his hatred for me. 

I know how the ‘ _marry’_ element of the spell works. It’s based on love, desire, and commitment. I’ve already resigned myself to being in love with Snow for the rest of my life — and I’ve certainly got enough desire for the both of us.

I read over the spell summary again. It can sometimes mistake strong emotions for one another — perhaps Snow’s overwhelming hatred for me was simply misinterpreted. 

I don’t mention it to him or Bunce, though. I really don’t want to start a conversation about _why_ we’re in this situation. I just want to get out of it, so that I can go back to yearning at a distance without any possibility of reciprocation. 

Bunce has magicked an invisible whiteboard into the room, and is scribbling down notes about the origins of marriage spells and how their annulments work. There’s a section titled, ‘ _Possible annulment spells’,_ but the space underneath it is blank. 

“What about this one?” Snow says, pointing a book in my direction across the gap between our beds. 

“Won’t work. That one requires a woman to be involved.” I say. Once again, heteronormativity causes me to suffer. 

Snow drops the book beside him and falls back onto his bed. “This is ridiculous. How is there not a single annulment spell that will work?”

“Maybe because marriages don’t usually occur accidentally and because of an idiot who can’t control his own magic.” I say, flicking through endless fruitless pages.

Snow glares at me, but he doesn’t say anything. I think he’s actually feeling guilty for once — and rightly so. My love might have bound us in marriage, but Snow should have learnt by now that using his magic for new spells never ends well. He’s lucky he didn’t blow us both up. (Or, perhaps, unlucky. Depends which way you look at it.) 

“There’s got to be one,” Bunce says, half to herself. “Something, anything that will work…”

She’s so committed to helping Snow out of his own mess, and I’m not sure if it’s embarrassing or lovely. I imagine she’s done it countless times before, because she didn’t even seem surprised when she came up here to start our research session. She just dropped an entire trolley of books that she’d magicked up the stairs onto the floor, and got to work. 

That was three hours ago, and we’ve achieved absolutely nothing. It seems like Bunce is just writing down anything that will fill the space, to give us some false sense of hope, and Snow has given up reading altogether and is now staring blankly out of the window. 

I close my book, swing my legs off my bed, and say, “Perhaps we should wrap up for the evening. Bunce, may I escort you back to the Cloisters?”

Bunce snaps her own book shut and places it down on the desk. “Fine, but I’m not telling you how I get through the door.” 

She doesn’t even wait for me before she marches out. I shove on my shoes, and follow her out into the corridor.

  
  


**_SIMON_ **

Baz takes his time down in the Catacombs, like he’s drawing it out for as long as humanly (or, I guess, _vampirically)_ possible. When he comes back, I’ve barely even moved — I’m just sitting, surrounded by piles of completely useless spellbooks and wondering how the fuck it came to this.

He doesn’t greet me, or even spare me a glance. Just vanishes into the bathroom for thirty minutes, then leaves in his stupid fancy pyjamas and gets into bed, turned away from me just the same as last night.

The room is silent for a moment, and then he pipes up; “Please, Snow, refrain from attempting any half-baked spells on me tonight. I’d prefer to get a full night’s rest.” 

I want to reply with something sarcastic, but what comes out is, “Baz, I’m sorry.” 

That gets his attention. The bed creaks, and he rolls over to face me. “You are?” 

“Yeah.” I say. “I shouldn’t have tried the spell. I was, uh… trying to prove something to Penny.” 

Baz raises an eyebrow, prompting me on. My cheeks feel like they’re burning, but I continue anyway. “She thought I fancied you. I was trying to prove that I didn’t.” 

Both Baz’s eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline, and I watch an unidentifiable emotion flicker across his face before he clears his throat and schools it back to blank. “Well. Sorry to break it to you, Snow, but I think you did quite the opposite.” 

I can’t help but laugh despite my embarrassment. “Yeah. Well. Unpredictable magic, y’know.” 

“Yes. I know.” He looks away from me, focuses deep grey eyes on his quilt. “I suppose I’ll have to consider spending the Christmas holidays in gloves.” 

I feel my face breaking into a grin. “What, Malcolm wouldn’t be happy to hear that you somehow eloped with me?” 

Baz huffs, the closest to a laugh I’ve ever managed to get from him. “Not particularly, no.” 

We go quiet, for a moment. “Is that what you’re worrying about? Your dad?” I might have pushed a line here. Maybe he’ll tell me to fuck off and mind my own business — I’ll back off, if he does.

“Yes.” He says, quietly, and he’s a constant surprise to me. “He’d probably think I was just doing it to annoy him. Rubbing it in his face.” 

“Rubbing…?”

“My queerness.” Baz looks me square in the face at that. Like he’s challenging me to have an issue with it.

“You’re gay?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Very.” 

“Oh.” I say, intelligently. “Cool. That’s… cool.”

That infernal eyebrow comes up again. “ _Cool?_ ”

I laugh, nervously. “Yeah. It’s cool. You’re like, rebelling against tradition and stuff.” 

Baz shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “It’s not nearly as fun as you make it sound.” 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise to me, Snow.” 

“Sorry.” I’m still grinning. Stupidly. 

He shakes his head again, but it looks like he’s exasperated with a friend, not exhausted by the idiocy of his roommate like usual. 

I can’t help but look at him — it’s dark, and I can barely make him out, but the lines of his face look so soft like this. One of his eyes is half shut where he’s got his face pressed into the pillow. He’s brushed the product out of his hair, and it’s spread across the pillow around his head, soft and a little wavy.

He’s gay. He’s gay, and his father doesn’t approve. And he’s worried about going home at Christmas and telling his father that he’s married to a boy — to _this_ boy. To the worst boy possible.

I want to reach over to his bed and touch him. Make sure he’s real, and not a softer, more human version of Baz.

He rolls back over, though, and I’m left disappointed as I lose my view of him. “Goodnight, Snow. Tell anybody about this and I’ll wear your guts for garters.” 

“Goodnight, Baz.” I say. I don’t stop smiling. 

❤︎

For the first time in ages, I manage to convince Penny to come with me to watch Baz’s football game. I think maybe she just feels sorry for me, but at least I look less like Baz’s stalker when I’m with someone else. 

When Baz walks onto the pitch, I can’t help but notice him among all the other players — he’s the tallest, for one. His hair’s tied in a ponytail, and he wears his shorts obnoxiously shorter than the rest of the team. (I can’t find it in myself to find his little mannerisms annoying, after last night, and it’s freaking me out a bit — since when was Baz showing off his long, pale footballer’s thighs endearing, rather than conceited?)

He’s also got a plaster wrapped around his ring finger — both of us have. I’m always covered in cuts and bruises anyway, and I suggested it to Baz this morning to quell some of his concerns about the news reaching his family. 

I catch his eye, and grin a little slyly at him — he rolls his eyes, but the way his mouth curls up a little at the corners says he’s not actually sorry to see me. 

I like that. We’ll be a better team if we can be amicable for at least a bit.

He’s as irritatingly good on the pitch as he is everywhere else — it’s difficult to take your eyes off him. He scores a hat trick, and he’s so smug about it that he’s lucky he doesn’t get a punch from the defender who’s marking him. It’s pretty entertaining not to be on the receiving end of his superiority for a change.

“You’ve gotta admit, Pen, it’s cool to watch him play.” I say, leaning over to nudge her shoulder. 

Penny’s curled over a paperback book, barely paying attention to the match at all. I can’t say I’m surprised. At least she was willing to come today. “Sure, Si.” She says, with absolutely no commitment to the sentiment.

I watch enough for both of us.

Baz takes forever in the changing rooms after a match, so I don’t bother waiting for him — besides, it’s lunch, and I have my priorities. But I don’t stop thinking about Baz, and everything that’s happened in the last couple of days, all the way back up to the Weeping Tower.

I’m kind of… _curious_ , now, about Baz. Like, I got one little piece of information about him, and now I don’t know what to do with it. I want to talk to him again, amicably, but… I don’t know. Sometimes we just rub each other up the wrong way without even meaning it. 

Agatha’s not at lunch when we get there. I’m not even surprised, really — at first I thought that she was just working extra hard this year, but now I’m convinced that she’s avoiding me. 

I guess we’ll work it out. We usually do. Maybe we still can...

For now, at least Penny and I can talk without anyone overhearing; we sit as far away from everyone else as we can with our trays, and she talks me through what she found in her readings alone last night while I tuck into my pile of sandwiches. It amounts to almost nothing, but I think she’s still trying to give me hope. 

I don’t know what to think, but there must be _something, somewhere._

I fidget with the plaster on my finger. I stared at it for ages last night — the initials of Baz Pitch, inked permanently into my skin. I never really thought about it before, but I guess I always imagined that I’d marry Agatha; we always just seemed like such an obvious match.

Now I’m not sure if Agatha and I will even last until the end of school. 

“I think this angle is worth investigating,” Penny is saying, and I’m just about half hearing her. “It depends on the shift in grammar, but there’s a possibility that it could work…” 

“What do you think the chances are?” I say, because if even Penny’s floundering for a solution, then…

She looks up at me, and frowns. “I don’t know, Si. I’ll admit… I’m not having much luck.” 

I place my head into my hands and groan. “I can’t believe this, Penny. I’m gonna end up married to _Baz Pitch. Forever_.” 

She reaches over and pats at my hair. “Well, it’ll be a comfortable life, at least.”

I snort. “The Mage’s Heir, Baz Pitch’s house-husband. Just there to look pretty. What a legacy.” 

On a normal day, Penny would probably launch into a rant about the regressive standards of patriarchy and family values set by the Families — today, she just laughs with me. I think we both need it. “I’m sure he’ll let you out of the house sometimes. Let you go to the Club with the kids.” 

“Urgh, _kids_. Can you imagine?”

Penny tips her head like she’s seriously considering what that would look like. “Five tiny Pitches with Baz’s scowl and your freckles, I think.”

“ _Five?”_ I scoff, laughing.

Penny nods. “Quintuplets.” She says grimly. “The real creepy kind. You wake up in the middle of the night and they’re all just standing next to your bed, watching you.” 

I snort. “No wonder they get the nanny to raise all their kids if they’re like that.”

I glance over my shoulder to where Baz has settled at a table with his minions. He’s hard to imagine as a kid, at least as a kid younger than he was when we first met — even then, he always seemed so much taller and older and posher than me. Than everyone. 

He notices me watching him, and raises one perfect, intimidating eyebrow in my direction. I shake my head, and turn back to Penny.

When I go to sleep that night, I dream of a family portrait being painted: me, Baz, and five identical, curly haired, vampiric-looking children.

  
  


❤︎

  
  


**_BAZ_ **

I’m going to murder Snow in cold blood, and then I’m going to sacrifice myself along with him. 

The clock beside my bed reads a blurry 7:23am, and he’s clobbering around like a troll in the room. The curtain is half-open — just enough that it shines on his side of the room, and when I peer through one eye, he’s standing in front of his desk, piling up books. 

“What exactly are you doing at this insane hour, Snow?” I grunt, and he startles like he wasn’t expecting to see me here.

“It’s half seven, Baz. I just thought I’d sort out some of these books before Penny comes up. Get rid of the ones that were useless last time.” Snow explains, placing another book atop the already-precarious mountain he’s been building. 

I groan, and pull the covers back over my head. “Since when are you _organised?”_

He ignores me. He puts down his last book and marches toward the door like he’s on a mission. _Ah, of course_ — he _is._ “Gonna go get breakfast. I’ll bring you some toast. Be ready by eight.”

Crowley. Why did I marry him again?

_(What a cruel joke.)_

❤︎

I do have _some_ pride remaining, so I make certain that I’m dressed and ready by the time Snow returns with Bunce in tow. They’re followed in by a floating tray, and then yet another stack of books — Bunce’s work, I have to assume. 

“Where exactly did you find _more_ books, Bunce?” I say, snatching the top one off the pile and flipping it open. 

“Home.” She says, simply. “My parents love marriage rituals. If the information we need is anywhere, it’s in my home library. I had my dad send these.” 

Snow looks a little concerned, as if Penny’s father is going to somehow correctly guess that the Chosen One accidentally married his arch-nemesis. 

Bunce seems to notice as well, and waves a hand dismissively. “Told him it was for an assignment. It’s not like the library here is particularly extensive.” 

“I think I’d go with ‘completely shit’.” I say.

Snow huffs — he doesn’t like to hear anything that could be construed as an insult against his mentor, of course — and retrieves a small plate from the tray they brought up. He practically thrusts it at me. “Here. Toast. And there’s tea here.” 

“Three sugars, if you don’t mind.” I say, taking the plate. He grumbles an insult that I choose to ignore.

“I think it’s worth looking into some of these modern phrases that could hold some power.” Bunch is saying, having returned to her previous magickal whiteboard. “Or if Simon could invent a marriage spell, I guess there’s a chance that he could invent a divorce spell, too.”

I hum. “Perhaps. But I’m not sure I’m comfortable letting Snow cast a spell on me when we don’t even know what it’s going to do.” 

Snow puts my cup of tea down on my bedside table with an audible thud. “Why don’t _you_ cast it then?”

“I could, if we found an _actual_ _working spell_.” I say. “But if we’re thinking of inventing spells from nothing, even I can’t do that.” 

Bunce taps absently on the side of her cup. “Then we’ll look for something new. Making Simon magickally experiment on you both is a last resort.” 

I hope it doesn’t come to that. I’d rather like to keep my body parts un-incinerated and where they belong.

Bunce and Snow have the decency to at least not look at me as I eat — I can tell Snow _wants_ to, judging by the way his eyes keep flickering to and fro, but he remains uncharacteristically respectful of my boundaries. He made my cup of tea just right despite his complaints — three sugars, like I asked. Bunce either doesn’t care or hasn’t even noticed me — she’s muttering under her breath, looking between her book and her wall of notes. I cover my mouth with my hand, regardless. 

Only thirty minutes in, Snow slams his book closed and falls back against his headboard with a huff. “This is useless. All the books are saying that there’s no generalised divorce spell. Unless some Mage has been hiding one for years, we’re not gonna find anything.” 

“That’s why I’ve got these.” Bunce says, scooping up another pile of books and dumping them on Snow’s bed. She picks them up, one by one, and tosses them at him. “These are Hindi, French... Flemish, Turkish…” She stops and studies the inner page of one. “ _Ooh_ , Russian. Greek. Arabic…” 

Snow catches one, looking more confused than ever. “I can’t read _any_ of these.” At the same time, I say, “Where did your family _get_ all of these?”

“Use an **easy for you to say**.” She says to Snow, and then to me; “I told you. They love marriage rites. And they’re not above shipping books from half-way across the world.” 

“Will any of these even work? We won’t have any clue what we’re saying in half these languages.” I sift through the books myself. “Might be able to swing Greek, and French could work…” 

Bunce shrugs, which I’ve no doubt is a habit she’s picked up from Snow. “Might as well try. Unless you _want_ to be married to Simon for the rest of your life.” She says it like it’s a challenge. 

I sneer at her. “I’d rather not.” 

She doesn’t reply. She just hums her acknowledgement, and goes back to her work. 

We work until mid-afternoon, tirelessly — but it’s becoming rather clear that we’re not going to find anything that will work today, either. As always, Snow is the first to give in. When he sees the clock has hit four, he closes his book and excuses himself for a walk on the grounds before dinner.

(I’m almost surprised that he’s willing to leave me alone with Bunce. Does he not expect to come back and find me crouching, bloody-mouthed, over her lifeless corpse?)

It appears I shouldn’t have let him go regardless, because as soon as the door shuts behind him, Bunce is rounding on me. “You know the implications of this spell, right?” 

I roll my eyes. “Of course I know. But I _also_ know how horrifically wrong Snow’s spells tend to go.”

“Please. You know as well as I do that Simon’s magic doesn’t work like that. He can amplify a spell, or create one, but it always reacts to how he’s feeling. Something like this doesn’t happen for no reason.” 

“So, what? You think Snow and I are soulmates, meant to be together against all odds? Should we just give up and go skipping into the sunset, hand in hand?” 

“I’m _saying,”_ Bunce says, “that you both should consider _rethinking_ your situation. Instead of just _avoiding_ it.” She must be half a foot shorter than me, but she’s got a fixing glare up close. I’d almost be intimidated if I weren’t… well, _me_.

I sneer at her. “Snow’s the one who cast the spell. Bring it up with him _,_ not me.” 

She turns around and storms away from me, back to her research. “As if I haven’t tried.” She says, and I don’t offer her a response. 

Instead, I take my leave just as Snow did. “Clean up your books before you go.” I say, and I slam the door behind me. 

  
  


❤︎

  
  


**_SIMON_ **

I couldn’t spend another minute in that room. It’s suffocating, the weight of what I’ve done, and the consequences for both me and Baz. If we can’t fix this, neither of us can hide from it forever — these tattoos will never fade. I’ll have to tell my girlfriend that I’m married to my vampire arch-nemesis now, and Baz will be outed to his entire stupid, traditional family. 

I don’t think we’re going to find a solution. I don’t think that one exists. Baz and I are just more victims of my uncontrollable magic. 

How fucking brilliant.

I don’t see Agatha down by the lakeside at the edge of the Woods until I’ve nearly reached it myself. She’s standing completely still, looking pensively over the water like she’s waiting for something to be revealed to her.

She’s like that a lot lately. Thoughtful. Silent. Still.

Agatha’s surprised to see me — she flinches when I appear next to her, and say hello. Her own echoed greeting is practically a whisper.

“I‘ve barely seen you this term.” I say, and I almost feel like it’s wrong to be interrupting the silence. But I think we need to talk. We haven’t, in so long.

“I’ve been busy.” She replies.

“Revision?”

“Thinking.” 

I could have guessed that. “What about?”

“Everything,” she says, unhelpfully. “Us.” 

“Us?” I respond, stupidly. 

Agatha seems to muster all her strength, then, and she turns to me with more energy than I’ve seen her have in months. “We need to break up, Simon.”

Well. I can’t say that I didn’t see it coming.

“I don’t understand. I thought we were fine.”

“We are, Simon.” Agatha sounds exasperated. “We’re fine. Just fine. But I don’t want _just fine_.”

“So what _do_ you want? Baz?”

“ _No_ , Simon.” She insists. “I don’t want anyone, like that. I don’t want to be someone’s girl anymore.”

I reach for her hand. I’m not going to beg for her back — I don’t think I want to. I just want to understand. What I did wrong. Why _we_ were wrong. She doesn’t flinch away; she lets me take her hand, and raises them between us. “I know you’re confused, Simon. But it’s not your fault. You don’t have to feel guilty.” She’s holding our hands up like she’s presenting them; like I’m going to see them together and think _yeah, I get it now._

I still don’t really get it. 

“Agatha, I—”

“Simon?” She interrupts, before I can say anything. She’s frowning, at our joined hands — at… oh, _fuck_. “Since when are you married?”

I forgot to put another plaster on my finger before I came out here. 

I grimace. I know she’s breaking up with me, but I still feel kind of bad. (I mean, is it not cheating to marry someone who isn’t your girlfriend?) “It’s… a long story.”

“These are Baz’s initials.” Agatha says. She rubs her fingers across mine, wide-eyed. She looks up at me, and for a moment I think she’s going to yell, or cry — but then she bursts out laughing.

“You married Baz Pitch! I should have fucking known!”

I shake my head, frantically. “It was an accident. I cast a spell on him, and it went wrong. _Really_ wrong.”

She stopped laughing to listen to me, but her face is going pink as she tries to contain it. “Simon, oh my God.”

“Are you not angry?” She really doesn’t seem to be. She’s definitely wiping away tears, but not because she’s heartbroken by my betrayal.

“No!” Agatha shakes her head definitively. “No, Simon, I’m not angry. It’s not like you cheated on me. And I’m literally breaking up with you.” She snorts, in a very un-Agatha-like manner. “It’s just… it’s a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?” 

I guess it is a _little bit_ funny. “Yeah. Yeah, it really is.” I think this is the first time we’ve smiled at each other in months. 

I let Agatha laugh it out, and I laugh with her — it’s nice to see her happy. She deserves it. And if I’m not what makes her happy, then… so be it, right?

When she’s finally calmed down, she turns to me seriously. “Do you think we can be friends, Simon?”

I grin at her. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

I think this is better.

  
  


**_BAZ_ **

Sometimes hunting in the Woods means coming back to see your husband and his girlfriend laughing semi-manically together by the lake. Or at least, it does in my unfortunate fucking life, apparently. 

I plan on storming back up to Mummers’ and sulking under a multitude of blankets, but Snow has other plans. He calls me over, just as Wellbelove seems to bid him goodbye. She smiles politely at me as she passes, but says nothing.

I’m perfectly fine with that.

I’m also a complete push-over, because I’m turning on my feet as soon as Snow waves me over. 

“Come sit with me.” He says, taking a seat in the grass and tapping the space beside him with his palm. 

I will, but I’m going to be difficult about it. “The grass had better not be wet, Snow.”

“It’s not, you wuss. Just sit down.” 

I do, because I’m a constant embarrassment to myself. “What are you doing down here?”

He shrugs. “I just felt like a walk. The research was getting overwhelming.” 

I hum in agreement. 

He’s clearly thinking about something — he keeps absent-mindedly picking at the grass next to his knee. Part of me wants to ask, but I don’t know how to. We’ve never asked one another about our feelings.

Instead, I lean over and nudge his shoulder. “You’re thinking.” I point out. “Is it painful?”

He rolls his plain blue eyes. And then he says exactly what I wasn’t expecting to hear: “Agatha broke up with me.” 

I’m not quite sure how to respond to Snow _sharing_ with me. Or the fact that Watford’s golden couple apparently just broke up. “You didn’t look too upset about it. I saw the two of you laughing about something or another just now.” 

Snow huffs a laugh, and looks at his feet. “I’m not upset about it, really. We’re still friends. And it was probably for the best.” 

Not what I was expecting to hear, either. “So what’s got you looking like you’re constipated?” 

“I dunno. It’s just disappointing when things don’t turn out the way you expect them to, you know?” 

I nod. I do know.

“And I guess it’s hard. To think that after everything, when I’ve played my part… I’ll just be alone.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re a married man, after all.” 

Snow laughs. “You gonna wait for me to come home from all my missions?”

“If you’d like me to.” 

He turns to me, smiling a little grimly. “Guess it won’t be as bad for _you_ if I don’t come back.”

“Don’t be so sure, Snow.” He looks at me quizzically, and I continue, “You’ve been a permanent fixture in my life since we were eleven, don’t forget.”

“That’s a very roundabout way of saying that you’d miss me.”

“Your words, not mine.”

He shakes his head, laughing. There’s a lovely, almost dusky glow over us now, and it’s turning the bronze of his hair into gold. I watch him as subtly as I can manage — he leans back on his hands, and closes his eyes. 

He’s beautiful. And he’ll never be mine.

I’m positioned just a little behind him, enough that his left hand is in my line of sight. He’s been so vigilant about keeping it covered (for _my sake_ — I don’t understand him at all), that I’ve barely been able to see the letters on his ring finger.

The letters of my name, that signify what I’m supposed to be to him. 

Instead, those letters mean nothing. _I_ mean nothing. 

I press my fingers atop his hand, and his head falls in my direction, one eye peeking open. 

“Sorry.” I say, quietly. “I just didn’t get to see it before.”

“It’s fine.” He replies, and he lifts his hand and offers it to me. 

It’s calloused (from swinging that damned sword around, I imagine), and warm. I can feel his gaze on me, as I stare at his hand. _TBGP._ In my very own handwriting. Like I placed it there myself. 

I run the length of the veins on the back of his hand with my fingers. I could spend hours tracing my fingertips between the freckles here.

He shifts around and sticks out his other hand, making a grabbing motion at me. I huff a laugh and turn, laying my left hand in his right. Snow turns it over and picks off the plaster I put there, and reveals my own tattoo — a messy, scribbled _SS._

“Sorry about the scribble.” He says, with the softest laugh. 

I shake my head. It’s fine. I don’t mind it, really. It’s… so _him_.

We sit there, holding each other’s hands, for what feels like forever. I stroke my thumbs across the backs of his hands, and he relaxes subtly against me — his forehead bumps against mine. I’m afraid to look up and see him, this close to me.

The sun is dipping. I could stay here forever, but I know that we can’t. “We’re going to miss dinner, Snow.”

His head has slipped to my jaw, his hair tickling at my neck. He grunts sleepily, and nudges against my throat. 

I don’t have the strength to move until he does, pulling back and smiling timidly at me. “Guess we’d better go, then.”

We walk back up to the Weeping Tower together, in silence. My head doesn’t stop spinning all through dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldn’t wait to post. i know, i’m rubbish.

**_SIMON_ **

Penny could barely get a word out of me all the way through dinner, last night. Eventually I think she and Agatha ended up giving up on me completely, and just leaving me to my daydreaming.

I just… couldn’t stop thinking about Baz. 

About his cool hands, reaching out for me. The way he studied my tattooed finger with _that look_ on his face. A look I couldn’t place — but one I desperately want to see again. 

He massaged my hands so gently, and I just leaned on him — I practically fell asleep in the crook of his neck. I might’ve, if he hadn’t mentioned dinner.

(I didn’t even care about dinner. I was hungry, sure, but I was happy where I was. I could have just raided the dining hall for leftovers later.)

I saw Baz again, when we both returned to Mummers’, and our only interactions were tinged with awkwardness. Not enough to make them uncomfortable, I guess — but it was as if we were just… both so _aware_ of each other. More so than ever.

I knew as soon as the lights went off that I wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight. Baz is just _there,_ only a couple of metres away, and I can hear him breathing.

Everything feels different. Off centre. But in a good way, I guess — just confusing. 

Baz looked lovely out in the soft light of the grounds earlier. He’s always been attractive, but in a sharp, startling kind of way. Even in the corner of your vision, he’s always noticeable.

But the Baz from tonight was something different.

Not _different._ He’s still the same Baz.

Just… softer. Kinder. Gentle, and opening up to me. Being _vulnerable_. In a way I never expected.

I like this side of him, and I’d like to see it again. If he’d let me. 

I think he might, somehow. The thought makes my chest feel tight. I roll over in bed, because I can’t resist the urge to look at him again — when I do, though, he’s already facing me, and his eyes are open. He’s been watching me.

“Hey.” I whisper. 

“Hello.” 

“Can’t sleep?”

Baz shakes his head, as much as he’s able to with his face crushed against the pillow. 

“Me neither.” Before I can think about it enough to talk myself out of the idea, I throw off my covers and cross the space between our beds. “Move over.” I say, and Baz looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“What?”

“Just, move over a bit.” 

I almost expect him to tell me to bugger off, but to his credit he doesn’t — he rolls onto his back and props himself up against the pillow a bit, then shuffles over to the opposite side of the bed.

I lift up his covers, and shuffle in next to him.

“What are you doing?” Baz breathes, as I push myself down and lay my head on his shoulder again. 

“Being efficient.” I say. 

“Logical.” Baz mutters dryly.

“Shut up.” 

He does. I fall asleep soon after, breathing in the smell of cedar and bergamot.

❤︎

I come to my senses much more slowly than I usually would. It takes a moment to realise why there’s a hand in mine, and someone’s breath ruffling my hair. 

Baz hasn’t woken yet, and I can’t move without disturbing him — so I stay. 

We’ve shifted down through the night, to get more comfortable against the pillow we’re sharing. Baz is slumped half over and curled toward me, one of his legs draped over mine. I turn my head closer into the crook of his neck, and press my lips to his collarbone. 

I don’t know why I do it. It’s the first real movement I make, but it’s enough that I feel Baz inhale against my hair. “ _Simon_.” I hear him say, grumbly and deep. 

“Yeah?”

I don’t think he’s really awake yet, because he hums quietly against me. 

“Baz.” I whisper. 

“Let me sleep, you insufferable nightmare.” His voice is endearingly muffled, both by my hair and by sleep. 

I laugh faintly. “It’s Monday. We have classes.”

“Fuck classes.”

He doesn’t mean it. Baz never skips classes.

I convince him to at least roll off me, so I can get up and go for breakfast — there’s no way I’ll live through a Monday without a full English. (A man has needs.) 

There’s barely enough time to get dressed if I want to eat properly. I throw on my shirt and button it haphazardly, and call to Baz — still hidden under his blankets — as I leave. “Get up, Basil, and come down to breakfast!”

His only response is a muffled, “Fuck off.”

Penny and Agatha are already waiting for me, when I get to the dining hall. They’re in the middle of a conversation about our Greek assignment, which I had totally forgotten about until now. 

“You’re late.” Penny states, as if I hadn’t noticed and was currently shovelling down baked beans for the good of my health. 

“Mhmm. Overslept.” I say, between bites. 

Baz _does_ show up — only ten minutes before breakfast ends. I find myself watching him, making sure that he’s eating something. Only a couple of bites of toast, hidden behind his hand, and a cup of tea — I make a note to bring back extra food to the room from tea later. 

We don’t have much time to research today, what with classes and all. It’s not until after class, me with extra scones and sandwiches in tow, that we’re able to regroup and continue working through the books Penny got from home.

Except, we’re one short. Penny abandoned me after tea to go to an extra revision class for Latin, saying; _I don’t get a grade for cleaning up all your messes, Simon._

I’m not sure if Baz and I will get very far on our own. In fact, Baz sounds genuinely disappointed when I tell him that she won’t be helping tonight — he won’t admit it, but I think he kind of likes her company, sometimes. (At least, when she’s not on his back about the regressive standards set by the Families, or telling him off for having a maid in his house.) 

We work through a few more of the books, anyway, but the translation spell Penny showed me isn’t always that accurate. We’ve mostly been relying on the French ones, as well as Latin and Greek — the ones Baz can read. 

I’m not fluent enough in any of those to be of any use, so I mostly just sit next to Baz on his bed and make slightly unhelpful and distracting comments while Baz does the work.

He doesn’t even go down to dinner, but I make sure to bring back extra again. 

By eight, we’ve compiled a short list of spells we can try, but I’m still not convinced that any of them will actually work. They’re all still just too specific, and we’re clutching at straws.

Baz is standing in front of the list on the wall, crossing off more and more as he works through the conditions for each. He crosses off the last one on the list, and turns to me with a huff, dropping the pen he was holding. “This is useless. None of the ones we’ve tried have worked, and these spells are even _less_ likely to.” 

“We’ll find something.” I reassure him.

Baz sneers. “Crowley, if you think that then you’re as naive as you are stupid.” 

_Ah_ , the Baz I haven’t been missing. Pissed off, frustrated Baz.

“There’s no need to get angry with me.” I protest. “We’re in this together, remember?”

Baz doesn’t look at all reassured by that. “Lovely sentiment, Snow. I’m not sure that my family _or_ the Mage will agree.” 

“Well, who cares what they think? It’s our fucking marriage!” I’m starting to yell, now. I can’t help it — he gets me so frustrated sometimes. 

“We’re not some star-crossed lovers!” Baz throws his hands in the air. He’s never usually so expressive; I think he’s genuinely disgruntled by this. 

I tear my hands through my hair. “I don’t understand why you’re so bothered by this! I’m the one who’s going to be stuck with a cruel, scheming vampire for the rest of my life!” 

Baz’s lips are drawn back in an honest-to-God snarl. “I _care_ , Snow, because believe it or not, I don’t want to be stuck in a loveless marriage with a man who hates me!” 

“I don’t _hate_ you!” I yell.

“Well, you’re certainly fucking not _in love with me_ , are you?”

I don’t know what to say to that. Part of me wants to scream that maybe I _am,_ and then we’ll see what he thinks about _that._

But I don’t know how to say what I’m thinking, so I react the way I usually do when I’m lost for words — _physically._

In a moment, I’ve got my forearm up against his collarbone, and I slam him back into the wall. “ _Anathema_.” Baz breathes.

“Shut the fuck up.” I snarl.

And then I kiss him.

  
  


**_BAZ_ **

I don’t know what Snow is doing, but I’m damned well not going to stop him.

It’s the tensest things have been between us in days. It’s just the way things used to be: a screaming match that ends in a physical altercation.

This isn’t quite the physical altercation I had expected, however.

Snow has got me pressed up against the wall, with his knee between my legs, and he’s kissing the life out of me. He’s moved the arm that was holding me down, and now he’s taken a grip of my face, holding me still.

Keeping me there, where I’m in reach of him. Where he can touch me, as much as he wants. 

I’m so thrown off by this whole situation, and I have no idea what I’m doing — he’s in the middle of working my mouth open, and I’m still wondering where I should be putting my hands.

They end up fixing at his torso, and not doing what I originally intended; with all that remains of my self-preservation, I shove Snow away from me, and he stumbles back by a couple of steps. 

“What are you doing?” I quiz him, still fighting for my breath.

“Kissing you.” Snow states, stupidly. 

“ _Why?”_

“’Cause I want to.” It must be clear by the look on my face that he hasn’t cleared things up for me much. He shakes his head. “Because… I’m obsessed with you. You’re infuriating, and gorgeous, and I want you.”

I can scarcely believe what I’m hearing. I almost want to pinch myself, make sure I’m not dreaming. 

“Besides,” Snow starts, “you’re my husband. We’re allowed to do this. As much as we want.” He presses closer to me, until I can feel his breath on my face again. “If that’s what _you_ want.” 

All I can do is nod, a little absently. “Yes. It’s what I want.”

Snow grins, and I know he’s going to be the death of me. “Great.”

When he swoops me back into a second kiss, this time I don’t hesitate to reciprocate.

  
  


**_SIMON_ **

I’m glad that Baz is done questioning me now, because all I want to do is kiss the living daylights out of him.

I think he gets it though, now. What I want, and why I want it. Why I want _him._

If he doesn’t, then I’ll show him.

His hands are looking for a place to settle on me, and I’m holding him back against the wall again — I tug my hands through his hair, because I’ve always wanted to. When I scratch at the back of his neck, his mouth opens wider for me. 

I think this might be Baz’s first kiss. He’s letting me lead, not fully aware of his nose or his teeth. I don’t mind, particularly — it starts off messy, but it’s good to see Baz just take what he wants, even when he’s not the best at it.

Besides, I can firmly say that Baz is an extremely fast learner.

He’s finally beginning to touch me properly, now. I feel timid fingers edging up my side, toward my chest. The other arm is reaching around my back and toward my arse, like he’s trying to urge me closer.

I let his hand guide me as close as I can get, and I step back between his legs. I push up a little, and then we’re grinding our crotches together, and Baz is panting into my mouth. 

I suppose there’s not much point in wasting time, now. He’s literally my _husband_ — if I want to dry-hump him against my bedroom wall, then I’m perfectly at my liberty to do so.

But we’re still not close enough, and I want to _see_ him. I’m feeling like all the tension between us has come to a head; touching him like this is all I can do to work some of it out.

I’ve been steadily working open the buttons on his shirt, with my mouth latched onto his jaw and neck. Once his chest is free, I’ve got my mouth in the dip of his throat and then my teeth on his collarbone, and his head falls against mine. 

I’m lost in him. Breathing him in. 

Baz is breathing hard against my ear, one hand buried in my hair and holding me to him. He doesn’t need to worry about encouraging me — I’m well into this, all of it. I won’t be satisfied until I’ve touched him everywhere I can. 

I suppose that’s why I don’t really waste any time in dropping to my knees, unfastening his trousers, and nuzzling into the dip at the top of his thigh. 

I’ve got my hands planted around each of his thighs. Curling under his pants. I look up at him, hoping for some kind of permission to continue — Baz nods his consent. His mouth is hanging open a little. I’ve never seen him look so starstruck. 

(It’s a little bit of a confidence booster. And also, maybe a little weirdly, really hot.)

He’s definitely watching me now. When I look up at him, I can see the way his chest rises and falls like he’s just played a footy match. His eyes are wide, and he reaches down with one hand to push my hair back from my forehead. I grin up at him, and his only response is a subtle bite of his bottom lip.

It’s a moment of tenderness that I’m willing to let him have before I make him fall apart in my hands. 

For being an infuriating prat, for one — and for all the time we’ve wasted when we could have been doing _this._

It takes me a moment to work down Baz’s pants, but then I’ve got the Heir of Pitch spread naked in front of me, and he looks like some kind of divine entity. 

I mean, he’s fucking beautiful. Even looking down his nose at me.

I’ve never given a blowjob before, but I intend to make a damn good effort to make up for my lack of expertise. And judging by the way Baz clutches at my hair and groans, I’m not doing a half-bad job — not even when I take his foreskin between my teeth and pull, just enough to spark a thrust of his hips in my direction. 

He likes it, whatever I’m doing. I must look a mess down here; I’m working up and down, and slobbering all over his cock. I’ve got the base of it in one of my hands, and his arse in a firm grip in the other — squeezing _hard_ , and hoping that he feels it. _Keeps_ feeling it.

It’s obvious Baz is trying in vain to avoid rolling his hips toward me. His whole body is practically shaking against me. 

There’s a part of me that just wants to hold him against the wall and torture him with my mouth until he comes, but I don’t want this to be over so quickly. I pull off him, and he practically whimpers at the loss.

I get to my feet so quickly that my knees practically give way underneath me, and Baz grabs a hold of my arms with all the coordination he can muster after practically melting against me just a minute ago. 

We laugh against each other, breathily. “Bed?” Baz says.

“Yeah. Yeah, good idea.” 

Baz leans in and kisses me again, finally able to get his fingers into my shirt and undo my buttons. He’s worked off my shirt by the time he’s pushing me backward onto his bed. I shuffle up against the pillows and he crawls over me, tugging enthusiastically at my trousers in his rush to get them off me.

He gets me naked, and then he sits down on my thighs, looking over me in some kind of wonderful stupor. His chest is an open plain of skin, dusted with dark hair. I press my palm against him, fingers splayed, and take in his initials displayed there, in plain view. 

A clear-cut marker that I’m _his,_ in every sense. I think I always have been.

When he rolls his hips against mine, it lights a spark across my entire body — I need _more._ More of this, more of him. I reach my hand around to the back of his neck and tug him down to my mouth, press our chests together. His hands glide over my sides, my arms, my shoulders, like he wants to touch everywhere at once.

Baz’s head falls against mine as he rocks us together. His breaths are coming heavy against my face. I’m almost lost in it, in the feeling and the weight of him, but I still take a hold of him and roll him over onto his back so I can take back some control. 

“You’re beautiful.” I breathe, splaying my hands across his torso. 

“And you’re a torment.” Baz hisses. He’s gazing frustratedly at where my hands are sliding ever closer to his now-neglected cock.

I grin at him, slyly. “What is it you want, sweetheart?”

He bucks his hips a little by way of answer, and I widen his knees to get a better look at all of him beneath me. Smooth my hands down the inside of his thighs.

“Fuck me.” He breathes. 

“Magic word?”

Baz practically growls. “Simon. Fuck me, _please_.” 

“Since you asked so nicely. Lube?” I hear him reach over and open the bedside drawer. I’m kissing at his inner thighs again when he hands it to me — Crowley, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of these legs. I suppose the only consolation for me having to stop is that soon I’ll be able to wrap them around me.

Baz has picked up his wand and casted a quick cleaning spell while I was distracted with popping open the cap of the bottle. I practically pour the stuff all over my bed, unable to take my eyes off him even as he takes a pillow from behind him and shoves it under his arse. 

It’s probably a weird time to be overcome with emotion about how Baz is my _husband_ , and he’s the first person I’m going to do this with. How I’m pretty sure he’s the only person I’ve _wanted_ to do this with. 

I imagine, as I crawl back over him and get to work, what it would be like if we were married… intentionally, I guess. If we’d dated, proposed, gone through the marriage rites, said our vows; all the stuff you expect. 

I imagine how nice it would be to be doing this under the promise of some sort of forever.

I think I’d like something like that with Baz.

  
  


**_BAZ_ **

Watching the look on Simon’s face as he fingers me is nothing short of a divine experience. He’s worked in his third finger, now, curling them just about right, and I wish I could reach far enough to smooth out the frown of concentration on his face. Trying so hard to make this good for me. I could probably come on that alone.

I don’t want to, though, yet. Snow hasn’t fulfilled his promise to me. 

We still haven’t _really_ consummated our marriage. I think that needs to change.

“I’m ready. Snow.” My words are coming out in breathy, broken half sentences. “Please. Fuck.”

“That’s not my name.” He says, pressing his fingers just right to draw a whine of desperation from my throat. At any other moment, I’d be overwhelmingly embarrassed by the noises I’m making. But Simon’s hands on me are a reassurance, and the enthused way he carries on after I make a sound are enough to spare me any shame.

“ _Simon.”_ I groan. “ _Please_.” 

“Better.” He slips out his fingers, and reaches over me to where I’d managed to fumble out a packet of condoms when I was looking for the lube earlier. (Fiona gave them to me to be a torment, and I kept them out of what I thought to be misguided, ridiculous hope.)

Snow’s careful with the way he handles me — he rolls on the condom and then nudges his way in as gently as it’s possible to, one hand still stroking absently at my stomach. He’s slower than I really need him to be in the beginning, checking after every movement that I’m alright. He’s lovely, and he’s everything I could have wanted and more, but mostly now I just want him to make good on his promise and fuck me until I see stars. 

“I’m fine.” _I’m much better than fine._ “Move, please.”

He does. By Crowley, he does. He bends over me, presses my thighs up toward my chest. Fucks me like he’s been training for it his whole life. (A little uncoordinated, but enthusiastic, and damn talented. Just the way he fights.)

My body feels like it’s shaking, but he’s holding me. Keeping me there, with his ungraceful fingers pressing into my hips, my thighs. 

He’s breaking out of me some noises I never thought myself capable of making. The kind that I’d be embarrassed to fill an empty space with — fortunately, he’s right there with me, grunting like some kind of animal and breathing my name.

We don’t last especially long, either of us. I’m done for as soon as he takes one of my hands in his, and closes the other around my cock to urge me to completion. I come all over my stomach, with his mouth against my throat, and he follows not too long after, no doubt feeling the way I tense around him.

There’s no room for any kind of concern in me about what we’re doing, in the moments following. As he cleans me up with a soft, damp towel and then crawls into bed beside me, the only emotion I can conjure is adoration.

❤︎

We didn’t get much sleep at all last night — I finally managed to separate myself from Simon just long enough to go for a shower, and in less than five minutes he was climbing into the bathtub with me. Every time I thought we were done, we’d just get carried away yet again. It’s only been one night, but I’ve already got the curves of his naked body mapped out in my mind — the softness around his hips; the freckles on his ankles. A mole in the crease of his arse. The veins of his cock, and the way it fits against my fingers. I see it all, every time I close my eyes.

By the time we finally both dozed off, spent and breathless, it was past three in the morning. 

(I’m not complaining. Exhausted, certainly, but not complaining.)

Snow’s not there when I wake up. At least, he’s no longer tucked into my armpit — but there’s a loud crash at the other side of the room, and I peek open one eye to locate it. 

It’s Snow, because of course it is. He’s just tripped over his desk chair while trying to pull on his trousers. “What in Crowley’s name are you _doing,_ Snow?”

“Breakfast.” He says, breathlessly. “Gonna miss it.”

Right. Of course. I should have known he would rather eat overdone eggs than cuddle with me in the morning. 

“Good to see your priorities are in order, Snow.” I say, propping myself up against the headboard. 

“It’s _Simon_.” He insists. “And it’s also your fault that I’m starving.”

“Oh, it is, is it?”

He grins cheekily. “Yeah. Y’wore me out, didn’t you?”

I tut. “Excuses, excuses.” 

Snow’s managed to fight his way into his trousers and is haphazardly buttoning up his shirt. He seems to give up around the collar, though, and rounds my bed, instead. I notice up close that he’s forgotten to put on one sock, but at least he’s remembered to put a plaster back on his finger.

He dips at the waist, and presses a kiss to my lips. “I’ll be back in half an hour. Don’t move.”

“We have classes.” I protest, but it’s feeble.

He shrugs. “We’ll skip them. You’re top of the year already.”

“Because I _attend my classes_.” I’m arguing for the sake of it, honestly. I fully intend to wait for Snow to return, then sink back beneath the covers with him.

“You’re a pain in the arse. Stay here.” He kisses me once more, then shoves his feet into his shoes and leaves me alone.

(I _do_ get out of bed, but only to brush my teeth and stare at my horrific sex-hair and sore lips in the mirror. I also take a shower, but I make sure I’ve burned my bedraggled appearance into my memory before I do.)

  
  


**_SIMON_ **

Dragging myself out of bed this morning was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I’ve fought off a goblin using only a pair of tiny, child-safe scissors (it’s a long story). But Penny would’ve been suspicious if I hadn’t showed up, and besides; I really _was_ starving. I was starting to think that my stomach’s groaning alone was going to wake up Baz.

I ended up being late anyway. Penny is looking at me quizzically when I sit down — I’m never usually late to breakfast, but I have been, both of the last two days.

Penny doesn’t know why. I think if I told her that I’m late to breakfast because I was up all night shagging Baz Pitch, she’d have an aneurysm.

(I mean, she knew I fancied Baz before I even did. I think she’d be more surprised that _I_ was aware of that fact, and had done something about it.) 

“Overslept again.” I say, by way of explanation. I don’t offer anything else.

I wolf down my breakfast, and Penny and Agatha both give me weird looks when I rob a few extra slices of toast and tea and rush back off to Mummers’ — I tell them that there’s some homework I forgot to do. I doubt they’ll guess that the real reason is that I’m dying to go cuddle with Baz.

He’s back in bed when I get back to the room, propped up against the headboard with a book in his lap. Part of me was afraid, coming up here, that things would be different now — last night was a little… _heated,_ after all. Now, in the daylight, we’re going to have to talk about what all this means.

“You were quick.” Baz says, taking the pot of tea and a mug off my tray.

“I told you I would be.” I place down the rest of the breakfast I’ve brought up and crawl over Baz on my knees, settling at straddling his thighs as he pours his tea. When he puts the pot down, I lean over and kiss him softly. “I missed you.”

“That’s incredibly embarrassing for you.” Baz says, but he’s smiling against my lips. 

I take his face in my hands, kiss his nose and his cheeks. “Mhmm.”

“ _Snow_ .” He protests, scrunching up his nose in a way that just makes me want to kiss him more. My anxiety has dissolved now I’m here with him. I’m overwhelmed by all my feelings. (Feelings I didn’t even realise I _had_ until yesterday…)

I squish his cheeks together. “It’s _Simon_.”

“ _Simon.”_ He says, muffled by my hands against his face. (There’s just something about the way he says my first name.)

“Yes?”

“What is this?”

“What’s what?” I’m still covering his face with kisses. One between the eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, the corners of his eyes.

“ _This.”_ Baz says, stroking a hand over where mine is cupping his face. “What are we doing?” 

“I told you.” I pull back, look him square in the face. “I’m kissing you, because I like you, and I want you. And because you’re my husband.” 

Baz looks unconvinced. “You don’t _like_ me, Snow.” 

I study him for a moment. The grey of his eyes, sharp and unwavering. The way his hair falls over his face, soft and freshly washed. He hasn’t put any product in, because I told him once that it looks better without it. My initials are marked in a permanent scrawl on his hand. His sleep shirt is half unbuttoned, and his chest is open and inviting. I want to bury myself in the crook of his neck and breathe in the smell of his stupid shampoo. 

“You’re probably right.” I agree.

His eyes dip away from mine. I’ve never seen him look so disappointed by me _agreeing_ with him. 

I tuck my hand back beneath his chin and lift his face up to meet mine. “I actually think I might love you.” 

Baz looks a little like he’s about to cry. “You know what I am, Simon.” He says, timidly. 

“Yeah.” I agree. “And I don’t care about that. ‘Fangs and all’, and all that, y’know?”

Baz releases a shaky breath. The resistance is gone, now; replaced by pure hope, and fear. I think this is the point when he’d usually look away; avoid eye contact, so I can’t see how he reacts as my words sink in. 

But I’ve got him now. Right where I want him.

And I don’t plan on letting him go.

  
  


❤︎

**_BAZ_ **

It’s mid-morning on a Tuesday. I should be in Greek, by now — instead, I’m flat on my back in bed, with Simon Snow hovering above me, kissing the breath out of me.

We’re barely coming up for air, but I feel like I don’t even need it. He’s enough to keep me alive. I’ll stay here forever, fed only by his kisses and the weight of his body over me. 

We fall asleep again around noon, with his head on my chest. I wake up first, early in the afternoon, and busy myself by burying my fingers in his curls. 

Simon Snow told me that he thinks he might love me. And that he doesn’t care that I’m a vampire. I didn’t even have the coherency to tell him how _I_ felt — fortunately it hasn’t held him back at all. He seems to know that I have feelings for him, just by studying my face. 

But there’s no way he could know the depth of my love for him. There aren’t enough words to describe it, not in any language. 

I think I’d like to try, though. When I feel that I’m ready.

Snow begins to stir as I curl my fingers around and scratch at the short hair at the back of his neck. His head nudges against my chin, and the curls at the top of his head tickle my nose. 

I can’t bear to let him move. I press my face into his hair and inhale. 

Snow grunts beneath my mouth. “Creepy vampire, sniffing my hair.” 

I can’t help it. He used my shampoo last night, and now he smells like me. I wonder, absently, if I could get him to wear one of my football hoodies. 

Snow lifts his head and shifts so he can face me again. It can’t be a terribly flattering angle — he rests his chin on his arms at the centre of my chest, and gazes practically up my nose. He seems content enough with the view.

“Everyone probably thinks we finally killed each other.” Snow laughs, softly. 

“I’m not sure that we didn’t.” 

He tips his head, and I know that he’s about to say something cheeky. “Was I really _that_ good?”

“Don’t let it grow your head.” I grumble. “I don’t exactly have much to compare to.”

“You’ve really never done this before?”

I shake my head. Reach out, and wind my fingers through his fringe. “Never wanted to, with anyone else.”

He closes his eyes and smiles, just a little. “Me neither. I’m glad it was you.”

I suppose that’s really all I needed to hear.

❤︎

I’m awoken once again by a thundering against our bedroom window. It’s our own faults, probably, for falling asleep again in the middle of the afternoon — but we’re both completely incapable of keeping our hands off each other, and have been drifting in between rounds of snogging, sex, and sleep for the majority of the day. 

It’s nearly four o’clock, now. I unwind a sleeping Simon from around me and stumble drunkenly over to the window, peering around the barely-opened curtains.

As I expected, it’s a tiny bird, carrying a note. I open the window, and it swoops in, drops the note on the floor, and disappears back out the way it came in.

The outside of the note says _Simon and Baz_ in distinctively Bunce-looking handwriting.

  
  


_Not even going to bother questioning you about why you weren’t in class today, but just know that Miss Possibelf wants both of your heads on a stick._

_Also, I found something. Something really promising. I’ll be up in half an hour._

_Penny_

  
  


I groan inwardly. I should have known that Snow and I wouldn’t be able to keep this a secret for very long — even without the marriage spell as an inconvenience, Snow tells Bunce practically everything. 

Now we’re going to have to either look her in the eye and tell her that we don’t need the spell to be annulled, and then tell her _why_ — or lie, and… get divorced, I suppose.

I’m embarrassed to convey just how hurt I feel by the idea of Snow and I getting divorced. It doesn’t feel quite as oppressive, being married to him, as I thought it might in the beginning — now it just feels like security, and something that’s uniquely _ours._

I’ve no doubt it’s going to be a massive issue in the long run. I’m going to have to tell my father, and Snow is going to have to face the Mage. My one consolation now is that this is _real;_ we’re actually together, in some sense of the word, not bound by a mistake and a lie.

With that being the case, I’ll happily tell my father that I’m married to Simon Snow. If that’s what it takes.

I still don’t know if that’s what _he_ wants, though. I can’t possibly assume that after less than eighteen hours of being together (in whatever way we _are_ together), he’d be willing to stay married to me forever. 

He says he thinks he loves me, but…

_For how long?_

Regardless of what we decide, though, I suppose we have no other option but to face the wrath of Bunce. I rouse Snow, who’s drooling liberally on my pillow, and go to take a shower before she gets here. Can’t have her seeing me looking like _this_ — it’ll be obvious in a second what we’ve been up to. 

Snow doesn’t have the same qualms. When I exit the bathroom, dressed in a collared shirt (so Bunce doesn’t get a first class viewing to the faint, but certainly visible, lovebites Snow managed to leave; only he could manage to bruise a vampire), and my school trousers, he’s dressed in a hoodie and trackies, and his hair’s a mess. At least, in his case, it tends to look like that all the time. I don’t have the same excuse.

Bunce doesn’t even wait the full thirty minutes before she’s hammering on the door. I’ve barely even cracked it open before she’s thundering into the room, with an armful of books, hammering on about something or another. 

She drops the books on my desk, turns to Snow and I triumphantly, and says, “I’ve cracked it.”

“Are you sure?” Snow says. “There’s always a catch with these spells, you know that.” 

“I _know.”_ Bunce insists. “Which is why I was extra careful researching this one. But all the books agree. It’s perfect.” 

Snow and I are both beginning to grimace. I glance over, and he’s already started chewing nervously on his cuticles. 

Bunce looks like she’s just made the greatest discovery in the history of magic. “It’s been used for annulments of arranged marriages, if either party really didn’t want to be involved. It was invented by a woman who wanted to help young girls who’d been married off. It’s not really attested anywhere, because the Families didn’t want their kids to know about it and run off with whoever they pleased.” 

I roll my eyes. “Yes, yes, we’re evil and all the rest of it. Could you get on with it, please?” 

She’s practically bouncing on her feet. “It’s _perfect_. The only condition for it is that the marriage isn’t consummated, which obviously isn’t gonna be a concern—”

Mine and Snow’s eyes lock at the exact same moment. 

Snow clears his throat. “Uh, Pen, about that—” 

I catch his eye, and shake my head wildly. I know it’s in vain, though. She’ll know as soon as the spell doesn’t work.

“I mean, it mustn’t have been the most convenient solution for past arranged marriages, especially since many of the women might not have been able to cast it in time, but still, what a wonderful advancement of women’s rights — it’s inspiring, truly to see women band together to help one another like this—”

“Penny.” Snow says, interrupting her feminist revelry. “There’s, uh… just one issue.” 

She frowns at him, as if she can’t understand why he’d ever question her meticulous research. “It doesn’t matter about how long you’ve been married, in case you’re worried about that. I checked and double checked. One woman had been married for over a year, and she still managed to—”

I drop my head into my hands. I wonder, if I think about it really hard, if I’ll be able to vanish from the room entirely. 

“No, Penny.” Snow interrupts her again. “That’s… that’s not it. The spell… it, uh… it won’t work.” 

Penny looks genuinely confused, like there’s something she’s missed. “Why not?” 

I peek out the corner of my eye, just to see Snow glance over at me apologetically. “It, uh… it won’t work, ‘cause. The marriage was — you know… _consummated_.” 

Crowley. Is this my divine punishment? Having to sit here, while Bunce looks between us and takes in the knowledge that Snow and I shagged?

I’ve never seen Bunce speechless before in eight whole years of school. “You — _oh_.” 

“So… yeah,” is Snow’s intelligent add-on.

“Oh.” Bunce says again. 

I can’t take this anymore. I get to my feet as quickly as is humanly possible without falling in a heap, say: “I’m going out for a stroll. Be back in a bit.” and disappear down to the Catacombs before anyone can call me back.

(This one’s on Snow. A man can only handle so much.)

  
  


❤︎

**_SIMON_ **

Baz was so embarrassed by our reveal that he actually left the room, and now I’m sitting here in our completely silent bedroom with Penny, who’s staring at me with both her eyebrows raised. 

As soon as the door slams shut, though, and Baz’s footsteps fade away, Penny seems to reboot her brain enough to say, “Nicks and fucking slicks, Simon.” 

“You were the one who said I had feelings for him!” I say, incredulous.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think that you were going to _do anything about it._ ” She protests. “And I certainly didn’t think you were going to hop into bed with him.” Something crosses her face — a realisation — and she groans. “Did you miss classes all day because you were…”

I nod timidly. I don’t need to force her to finish her sentence. 

“I expected better from Baz.” Penny says, shaking her head. “Though this does give me a great opening to get top of the class, if he’s distracted by you…”

I frown. Already, she’s thinking about how Baz and I being together could be a benefit. “Are you not… _bothered_ by this?”

“Are _you?”_ She throws back.

I shake my head firmly. “No.”

“Then no, Simon. I’m not bothered. Whatever makes you happy. I was just surprised.” 

I feel myself grinning, despite the situation. “And a little bummed that your spell won’t work?”

“Yeah.” She confirms, laughing. “I was really excited to try it, to be honest.” 

We laugh together, for a moment, and when Penny stops, she sits down on the bed and wraps her arms around me. “The quota doesn’t change. But I’m really happy for you.” 

I snort. “Alright, Pen. Thanks.”

  
  


**_BAZ_ **

I hadn’t realised, before heading down to the Catacombs, how much I _needed_ it. (I suppose I put the exhaustion and thirst down to loss of sleep and extended physical activity, rather than my own brand of anemia.) 

Once I come out, a couple of hours later — I needed to give Bunce a chance to be gone by the time I returned to Mummers’ — I’m feeling considerably more human, and less likely to sink my teeth into Snow’s worryingly inviting throat. 

Fortunately, Bunce _is_ gone when I get back. Snow’s been down to dinner, judging by the smell of roast beef and the plate of food on the bedside table, and he’s now sitting half upright in my bed, munching on a leftover scone.

“Must you eat in _my_ bed?” I say, by way of greeting.

He grins at me. “You can magic away the crumbs. Are you feeling better?”

I nod. “Much. Sorry for abandoning you to Bunce’s wrath earlier.” 

“It’s alright. She’s actually okay with it. We just surprised her.” I undress down to my pants and then pull on my pyjamas, climbing into bed beside him. He’s a rather bad influence on me, clearly — I reach over and take the plate he brought for me. “She’s also pretty excited about the fact that she might be able to take your spot at the top of the class, now you’re distracted by me.”

I tut. “She must underestimate me considerably to imagine that it would be that easy.”

He snorts a laugh. “Of course.” 

I barely have the chance to finish my dinner (still with a hand over my mouth — he doesn’t question me) before he’s taking the plate so he can settle himself close beside me. We end up sinking further down the bed again, me half sitting and him curled against me.

Snow adjusts eventually; he rolls into the space beneath my arm, enough so that he can take my left hand and hold it — and his — between us. “I still can’t believe we’re _married.”_

“And all because of your hyperactive magic.”

He nods, a little awkwardly. “Me and Penny, we talked about it. I guess, since the spell knew that I had feelings for you… and then, you know, _my magic…_ ” 

I shake my head. “It’s alright, Simon.” It really is, alright I mean. I suppose, while I’ve spent years complaining about Snow’s ability to fuck up any spell he comes across, it actually did us a whole lot of good in the end.

Snow’s mouth flattens into a line. “It’s just weird, innit? Being married before we even got together.”

I snort, slightly unattractively. “We could have at least gone on a date first. You’ve never even bought me dinner.” 

He turns, looks at me seriously. “Is that what you want?” 

Brushing back his hair, I reach over and kiss his forehead. “Perhaps.” It’s an admission, we both know it. I’d never in my wildest dreams thought that I’d ever be able to admit that I wanted to date Simon Snow to his face. 

“Cool. Then we’ll do that.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He repeats. “I know we’ve pretty much done everything backwards, but I’d like to do the dating part too.” He strokes his fingers across the _SS_ on my ring finger. “We can come back to _this_ , whenever we’re ready. Do it properly.” 

_Crowley._ I’ve been dating Snow for all of two minutes, and he’s already on about marrying me _properly_. I can’t say that I’m complaining, though. I’ll be with him, in whatever way he’d like me to be. (I’m infuriatingly weak.)

“Okay,” I say, because it’s all that my beaten brain can muster together. “That sounds lovely.” 

“Yeah,” Snow agrees. He drops our hands to my chest, but doesn’t let go. “It does.” 

I suppose, in a way, Snow casting that spell all wrong _was_ a vow, whether he knew it or not. 

I gently nudge his head with mine, until he looks up at me. Look him in his plain blue eyes as I tell him, “I love you, Simon Snow.” 

He grins, catches my mouth in a kiss. “I love you too.”

In the evening light of our bedroom, we make a promise of forever. It’s one I intend to keep. 

♥︎

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really hope you enjoyed this, and thank u for reading!! 
> 
> this was a long one for me — and i’d say it’s the best fic i’ve written. it gave me immense joy to write, and also to tease people with (river and twelve, i’m looking at you)
> 
> here’s to fake marriages and cheesy wedding rituals  
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> the second half of this will probably be up in the next couple of days, because i’m like... incredibly impatient. in the meantime, marry someone you think you hate
> 
> also don’t bother judging me for having three consecutive fics gifted to river. i already know.


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